The Archbishop of Canterbury on... having no f**king desire to Meet the Rees-Moggs

12th July 2024

WAKING up with a hangover so stinking it can be smelt in neighbouring boroughs, I recall the events that led me to my current pass.

Although a member of the House of Lords for many years, it was only yesterday that I made my maiden speech. I was a little the worse for wear but my words were as follows.

‘My Lords, Ladies, I’ve never before felt the urge to waste breath on this shitshower of a fucking chamber, but I must say this: I just clocked in downstairs for my daily allowance of £323 then fucked off to the bar and pissed most of it up a fucking wall. Literally.

‘It’s a fucking disgrace that I get away with it but there are bigger disgraces sitting here. I mean, fuck me, Ian Botham? What the fuck is a lump of cunt like you doing in the House of Lords? Lord Lucan was a better lord than you. And Haw-Haw.’ Thereupon I vomited copiously and slunk back in my seat.

Taking in the papers, I see my speech has received excellent notices. ‘Courageous’, ‘a breath of fresh air’ and suchlike. I also notice that the England team has prevailed in Euro 2024, thanks to a controversial penalty awarded by VAR. Dutch manager Ronald Koeman decried the technology, saying it was ‘destroying’ football.

Hahahahaha, serves you the fuck right, you cow-faced twat! Some of us remember you from Holland v England in 1993, hauling down David Platt in the penalty box, then having a free kick awarded instead of being sent off, and scoring the fucking winning goal! Karma’s slow – instant, my arse – but it’s finally come back to stamp on your fucking gonads with studs! Of course it wasn’t a penalty! It was a con job! You were Harry Kaned and Harry Kaned good! Fate has sat on your face and farted wetly and not before fucking time!

Jonathan Ashworth, the MP and member of the shadow cabinet who lost his Leicester South seat to independent Shockat Adam, has been in the media complaining of the injustice.

What the fuck was unjust about it? They counted the votes and he got a thousand more than you. Maybe if you’d shown some fucking balls in the first ceasefire vote and at least agreed the slaughter of kids was bad you wouldn’t have got your arse deservedly handed to you? Anyway, why the fuck are you being interviewed by all the major news outlets? You and that ghastly fucking ghoul Thangam Debbonaire? You’re losers! How about we hear from the fucking winners and you fuck off back to your shitty podcasts?

It has been pointed out that in 2019 Labour suffered their worst election defeat since the 1930s, with just 10.2 million people voting for them. By contrast, in 2024 Labour enjoyed a huge comeback and massive parliamentary majority, with a stunning 9.6 million votes.

Hahahahaha, we all know the system is fucked, but that’ll be fucking hilarious till the end of time! Over half a million more people voted for Corbyn than Starmer! That’s why all the Starmerites are seething with rage even after they’ve won! Think you’re gonna get more popular as people realise you’re a bunch of lobbyists in hock to corporations, privatisers and fucking billionaires? It’s killing you inside and this is as good as it gets! It’s your Spice Girls Wannabe moment, and that was fucking shit!

Finally, it seems Jacob Rees-Mogg is filming a new fly-on-the-wall reality TV show following his election defeat. The Discovery+ series, Meet The Moggs, will follow the former minister in his 17th-century country house and feature his wife Helena and their six children.

For fucking twat’s sake, which fucking chortling tit of a commissioning editor thought it’d be, like, sooo amazing to turn this venal, moneysucking, pseudo-classicist cunt into some sort of fucking national treasure? It’s reality TV, but the actual reality is that he’s a thick-as-whaleshit, country-destroying, attention-seeking cock! I’ll be tuning in, but only for the slim chance of you fucking choking to death on a kipper bone at breakfast, you lank streak of cosplaying scum!

Salted bloody cod and twats into golf: The gammon food critic's Algarve all-inclusive

11th July 2024

Restaurant reviews by Justin Tanner, our retired food critic who thinks if Reform UK are a bit more right-wing they’ll walk it next time.

I HAD to escape this pissbag of an English summer. Endless bloody rain and I can’t even blame it on immigration, like I do every other problem with Britain. Although if we weren’t paying all their bloody hotel bills maybe we could afford some weather machines.

So I went to the last travel agent left on the High Street and booked a week’s all-inclusive in the Algarve. Have to admit, I don’t know much about Portugal, and when I get there three weeks later I discover the hotel is riddled with golf twats in poofy pink Ralph Lauren tops. I can’t see them immersing themselves in the rich local dago culture like me.

Then it turns out the ‘all-inclusive’ has a six-drinks limit! Three with lunch, three with dinner! ‘What about breakfast?’ I ask, to disdainful looks. Good job I picked up a litre of Bell’s on the plane, which I’ve got hidden under the bed. I’m not stupid.

To get my six I order a bottle of the local beer, which is called Super Bock. As if the name isn’t stupid enough, it tastes like piss. ‘Havez-vous uno Stella?’ I ask, but ‘all-inclusive’ is only for locally-produced booze. It’s saying something when you’re admitting your own booze is so shit you have to give it away.

Maybe the food will make up for it? Will it f**k. The national dish is cod preserved in salt then soaked in water before cooking. Are these people too primitive to have heard of freezers? I love a bit of salt on my cod and chips at the chippie, but this is taking the piss.

Then there’s ‘Iberian black pork’. Is anywhere in the world safe from woke diversity? It’s okay, but it’s no substitute for proper English bacon.

Then it’s octopus and squid. Or rather it isn’t. F**k that, I’m not eating something that looks like it belongs in a horror film. And sardines, grilled whole. Not eating something that’s bloody staring at me either.

I pick at it all unenthusiastically, then give up and join in the staple diet of the other Brits here: pizzas, burgers and chips. Although it seems pointless to travel more than 1,000 miles to discover the only food fit for human consumption is the same as the late-night kebab shop over the road.

I wash it down with my last two free drinks, opting for the port wine. Might as well get gout to go with the sunburn and insect bites I suppose. Then it’s back to the room for several neat whisky nightcaps. It’s back to Spain for me next year. You know where you stand in the Costas – by the bar or over the toilet bowl. That’s a proper holiday.